


A Professional

by charlotteschaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Post-Half-Blood Prince, Post-War, Pre-Deathly Hallows, Rentboy Draco, rentboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:59:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post war Harry is surprised with a card delivered by a mystery man that reveals that not only is Draco Malfoy alive, he is rentable by the hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the serpentinelion Fantasy Fest prompt: 35. I would like to see a rentboy!Draco fic where he is bitter and spiteful and still very much afraid of...everything, including Harry. Harry isn't a client (at first?), but he becomes (re-)obsessed

_In the fashionable district of London there is a door that should one knock upon, a lovely young man will answer, and he will make your wildest fantasies come true._  
  
The man handed Harry the card, directions on the back to Soho which, as you got closer and closer, would direct you to that particular door in a high-rise flat development. It was fashionable, to be sure, in highly polished dark wood and brass. The lift was eerily silent and Harry hummed the absent muzak if only to break the silence.  
  
He'd faced down the most terrible sorcerer since Grindelwald and yet all he could think about now was the abject terror he felt at what might be behind the door. There wasn't a question that he'd go; he had to. Not just because of the promise of wishes fulfilled, but for the questions the stranger and the card brought up.  
  
No one knew Harry Potter had fantasies that involved men. He'd never uttered a word or shot as much as an untoward glance towards another male. He was careful, so very careful not to embarrass Ginny or the general public that depended on him to be the pillar of heroism and virility. No one wanted a flawed protagonist, in spite of what they said out loud to impress themselves.  
  
He reminded himself that it was all right to be kinky, so long as no one ever found out. But someone knew. Someone behind this door had sussed him out, and, if for no other reason than to find out who that person was, Harry had to be here.  
  
The door opened when he reached it. It took only a glance.  
  
Harry couldn't breathe.  
  
Everything went dark.  
  
\--  
  
What no one knew before this, because Hogwarts didn't encourage harlotry, was that Draco Malfoy was a _professional_ and no matter who came to his door or how they got there, he took care of business. He'd gone to great pains to leave his name and his life behind. He'd had to; Death Eaters didn't look kindly upon deserters. Even if they were all supposedly in Azkaban, he had never outgrown the fear that one day, he'd open this door and a Lestrange would be there and that would be the end.  
  
If Harry hadn't passed out, Draco would have.  
  
As it was, he took some heart that Harry was just as, if not more, afraid of this encounter. He caught him mid-slump and gave brief consideration to just leaving him on the floor like a Muggle drunk, but this was too nice a neighborhood to just leave saviors lying about in the hallway.  
  
Besides, it would be _unprofessional_.  
  
He kicked the door shut and dragged Harry through the exquisite entryway, past the posh dining room, and straight through the stylish living area to the bedroom. Some clients preferred to cut right to the chase; he wondered if Harry would have, but he bet he was the sort of man who would have to be incredibly drunk before he could give in to what he truly wanted. What a story it would make, if only he could sell it to the press without outing himself as being still alive.  
  
Plus, he was a professional.  
  
Only after settling Harry onto the bed did it occur to Draco that maybe he wasn't here as a client, but as an Auror set to bring him in. He was pretty sure Harry had become an Auror, or was he just a professional hero these days?  
  
As he dumped Harry onto the folding shackle bed in the playroom, it occurred to him again that only his pimp could have given him this address, as his flat was Fidelius protected. Right. Plus Harry was obviously surprised to see him, and if he'd been coming to take him away, he wouldn't have passed out.  
  
By now, Draco was incredibly tired of dragging Harry around his flat, so he just flopped onto the bondage chair as he tried to assess his options. He was just coming 'round to the idea that maybe he should wake Harry and ask some questions when the man roused, peered around the room with wide-eyes, pulled his wand, and shouted, " _Stupefy_!"  
  
\--  
  
"Oh sh--" Draco said before the red beam of light hit him.  
  
Harry sat up in a wild panic, looking around the room he'd been pulled into after being greeted at the door by his blackmailer. He'd heard the rumors that Draco Malfoy was dead, but, without a body, Harry hadn't believed it.  
  
Of course, Draco must be the one who would know of his secret fantasies about boys. He'd heard through the rumor mill that he was an accomplished Legilimens and Occlumens their sixth year of Hogwarts. It hadn't occurred to him until now that he might've had stray thoughts about Draco in the time he'd spent following him. Now it all made perfect sense-- other than that he didn't know why Draco had waited until now to blackmail him, or why he'd brought him to a torture room and left him unbound and.... Well, all right, there were a few things that didn't make sense.  
  
But soon.... Soon they would make sense.  
  
Harry grabbed Draco from the chair and set him on the bondage bed and used the attached belts to bind his ankles and wrists down. Since there might have been something dangerous hidden in Draco's robes, he patted him down before undoing the multitude of tiny buttons down the front. He spread the dark material, revealing Draco's pale, thinly-muscled body. His prick lay limp against his thigh.  
  
He looked angelic like this, bound and vulnerable, unable to move, an expression of scared annoyance darkening his countenance. Harry was nearly overwhelmed with an urge to _defile_ , but that would've been too close to rape, and though part of him (one part in particular) was more into that idea than he would have liked, he wouldn't. Even if Draco had brought him here to blackmail him, it would be wrong. Two wrongs didn't make a right.  
  
Still, the desire in him rose, and he found himself considering it-- plowing into Draco, his body stiff and unable to stop it. What sweeter revenge for taking advantage of his weakness? Harry swallowed hard, confronted with an ugly part of himself that he didn't particularly like. Before he could cave into his baser instincts, he flicked his wand.  
  
" _Finite_."  
  
Draco trembled and gasped for air, his eyes rolled wildly as he wriggled his limbs, testing for security and to master himself enough to speak.  
  
"Just so you know, bondage is extra. Usually I like to set the limits before we get to the tying up bit, but... er... seems like we're past boundary setting," said Draco.  
  
His laugh was high and nervous-- scared. Again, Harry felt a rousing sense of ownership. He'd never really thought that much about controlling another person, but keeping Draco Malfoy to himself, if only to keep his needs and secrets safe, was appealing.  
  
"Why did you bring me here? How did you find out?" Harry put his wand away and crossed his arms to keep from touching those long, delicate legs, or grabbing that sharp, fragile face.  
  
"Er, launching right into play, yeah? Um, let's establish a safe word first." Draco squirmed against the binding, twisting his hips against his robes. "Banana?"  
  
Harry felt an incredible surge of lust. The quieter he was, the more Draco fidgeted, and Harry found that he very much liked watching Draco tremble for him. He'd been trying to ignore the various fucking machines around the room, the dildos of every color, the floggers, and the restraints. He wanted to see Draco tied to each one of them, dangling from the ceiling, shivering with fear.  
  
"Or we could use 'blue'? Some people prefer colors. It's good to have a word that could be said around a gag. Something recognizable."  
  
Draco babbled to fill the void of silence that surrounded Harry's leer. It wasn't so much that Harry wanted to fuck him; he wanted to _devour him_ , and he wasn't so sure that he wouldn't. A lot happened in the course of war; many Death Eaters were left twisted and mangled after Ron was killed. While that wasn't a part of himself that Harry _liked_ , those baser instincts were aroused and clamoring to be exercised.  
  
Harry undid Draco's ankles and moved to the front of the bed and said, "Turn over."  
  
"You can't leave any permanent marks, nothing that will scar," Draco gibbered as he rolled over on the bed, shrugging out of his robe.  
  
The thick, leather straps wrapped around Draco's chafed, pale skin and Harry watched the resignation washing over Draco's countenance mingle with a surge of terror as he wrapped a strip of satin over his eyes to keep him from knowing what was coming. That done, Harry wheeled over one of the fuck machines, set it at the front of the bed, and nudged it against Draco's thin lips.  
  
"Suck it."  
  
Draco licked his lips and opened them; his mouth formed a seal around the jelly dong and he started to slowly bob his head, making a show. He pulled his face back, stabbing his tongue at the tip before taking it into his mouth again.  
  
"You like that, don't you?"  
  
Harry worked open his trousers, watching Draco's lips sucking and pulling on the flesh-colored dildo, spread white around it, clinging to the rubber. Draco's eyes were obscured by a black blindfold that mussed his hair, making it stick out over his ear and dangle down in a fringe to his eyebrow.  
  
"Mmm," Draco responded, his lips glossy with spittle that traced in long tendrils down the fake prick.  
  
"You suck a lot of cocks, don't you?"  
  
Having fished his cock out of his pants, Harry rubbed the base of his palm up and down the shaft slowly, squeezing the tip as it perked to full hardness.  
  
"Mmmhmmm..."  
  
Draco struggled with the heavy cock deep in his mouth. Harry grabbed the back of Draco's head and pushed him harder onto the dildo.  
  
"Do you deep throat?" Harry asked.  
  
Not waiting for Draco to answer, Harry watched Draco gag on the dong. He paused, waiting for him to relax and regulate his breathing. Then he moved it forward again until he thought he saw his throat expand to allow it.  
  
"Yeah... just like that," Harry groaned. "I'm turning the machine on. I want it to fuck your mouth while I fuck you."  
  
Harry dropped his trousers and toed out of his shoes as he stepped from his clothing. He cast his shirt aside and crawled up onto the table with his wand and another dildo in hand. Draco's legs were spread, but he had to pull his cheeks apart himself. Looking at Draco's opening, pink and so fuckable, his cock twitched in need. Teenaged Hogwarts fantasies had been so _tame_ in comparison to this. Hell, he would never have thought a fucking machine _existed_ , let alone decided to employ it.  
  
He'd never actually fucked a man before. Sure, Ginny had let him fuck her ass a few times, but she'd always complained so much about it that he felt like an incredible pervert doing it. Now he had Draco Malfoy here, sucking cock like the pro he was, spread out under him, asking for it. He lubricated the dildo and nudged it against Draco's opening, marveling at the way the skin parted, allowing the toy in so smoothly. The orifice was like a little mouth, lips in on thrust, lips out on dragging it out. Draco groaned and squirmed as Harry worked the dildo in again, twisting it as it went in and then pulling it out while he watched how it pulled and sucked at the skin.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you," Harry growled, tossing the dildo aside. "And it's going to _hurt_."  
  
He reached over Draco and shoved the machine back. It continued to whir and stab at the air as Draco pressed his cheek to the sticky plastic mattress and gasped for air.  
  
Harry yanked the blindfold off of him and barked, "Look at me. I want you to look at me when I fuck you."  
  
Draco's eyes were so wide with trepidation that it aroused Harry to the point that he fretted he was going to come before he even started. He lubed up his cock, pulling at it a few times before squeezing the base. If he was paying for this, he was going to get his money's worth; he'd deal with blackmail later. Right now, he was set on _defiling_. He lowered himself onto Draco, feeling his cock dangling heavily between his thighs. He wiggled forward, thrusting his hips forward a few times before finding the weakness, then, with one smooth movement, he pushed inside of him.  
  
"Fuck," Harry growled, looking down at Draco's reddened face and the way he bit his bottom lip on the pain of first entry. "Keep your eyes open, Malfoy." He pushed into him a few more times and then said, "You don't want this, do you?"  
  
Draco looked uncertain of how to answer. Then his expression steeled over and he yanked at his bindings and said with a voice that sounded strong but trembled at the edges, "No, I hate you, you're a foul, disgusting man. You're not worthy to fuck me! Get off!"  
  
He sounded scared, but not scared enough for Harry's liking. He wasn't going to question why he wanted to see Draco afraid, only that it aroused him and drove him further, harder. Harry ground his knees into the grippy faux leather and thrust deeper.  
  
"I killed your friends, you know. Goyle, Nott, Greyback..."  
  
"Greyback wasn't my friend."  
  
Draco turned his head but Harry grabbed his hair and forced his face back around.  
  
"I could kill you too, you know. No one would miss you, and even if they did, you were just a dirty fucking whore, who would care about you?" Harry punctuated each point with a powerful thrust.  
  
Draco shivered, his expression revealing his distress-- mouth gaped as he gasped for breath, eyes watered. It could have either been from pain or fear-- Harry didn't care. As the first tear crested and slid down Draco's flushed cheek, Harry's body clenched and he jerked. He dropped Draco's hair as he gripped the bed so he could rush a few more hard thrusts into Draco before he gave way completely. A pulsing, hard release flushed out of him in waves as he gasped and drooled onto the back of Draco's jerking shoulders.  
  
The weeping soon brought Harry back to his senses and he felt a knot of guilt forming. True, he thought he was here as part of a blackmail scheme, and, true that Draco Malfoy was a fugitive, but he was still a person, and he'd just used him like a... well, he was a whore, but that was hardly the point. Harry pulled out of him, still feeling like jelly and a bit hazy from afterglow. He managed to steady himself on the floor and unbound Draco from the table. Draco wrapped his arms over his face. Harry slid his fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I just got... caught up in... I'm sorry. I just... I don't understand," Harry whispered, still caressing him.  
  
Draco lifted his head; his face was bright pink, glossy with tears and pinched up with the force of trying not to shed another.  
  
"Leave me alone."  
  
Harry nodded and backed away to pull his clothing on, doing up his belt as he looked at the wreck of a man he'd left on the table.  
  
"I really am sor--"  
  
Before he could finish, Draco was up and screaming at him from behind the bed, "GET OUT!" He shoved the bed at Harry. It tumbled over, the belt fixtures clanged against the hard floor and the metal legs screeched piercingly until it stopped short, inches away from Harry's feet.  
  
"Malfoy, I just--"  
  
Draco was at the wall, pulling floggers and toys off and throwing them as hard as he could at Harry, screaming obscenities.  
  
Harry fled from the room, out the door, and through the elegant living area, past the fashionable dining room and through the hospitable entryway and out the door. When the front door closed, the sounds of screaming sealed off, Harry stepped away, half expecting the door to be gone when he turned around. Instead, there was a card taped to the door with his name and the time for his next appointment on it.  
  
\--  
  
Harry checked his bank accounts after the encounter and noticed that no money had come out. Whatever had happened, he didn't appear to be a client. After a few days, Harry checked the card again. His appointment was still on it, a couple of days away. Using a Disillusionment Charm, Harry decided to stake out Draco's door, watching who was coming and going through it, to measure his clientele.  
  
Wizards and witches passed through with varying frequency. There were more Wizards than witches, and some in shockingly high positions within the Ministry, many of which had given long and heartfelt speeches about the dangers of the Death Eaters left at large. Each time the door opened and closed, letting someone in or out of the flat, Harry felt another surge of anger threatening to explode in the form of a virulent hex on each person who exited, and at Draco, who stood at the door for a lingering kiss in various states of dress or undress.  
  
Sometimes he came to the door dressed as a schoolboy, Slytherin robes immaculately pressed. Sometimes he was dressed as a sultry woman, or a gentleman, a Quidditch player-- he was whatever someone wanted, but never himself. And never crying.  
  
Harry swallowed his guilt and checked his watch. Half two. The door opened to reveal a gruff older man, trim but for a bit of a slouch and middle-aged softness around the middle. He leaned in for a kiss, but Draco pressed his finger to his lips and whispered, "Next week."  
  
The man sighed and looked longingly at Draco's lips, and was rewarded with a lazy smile and a push to his chest for him to go. All of the lovesick posturing inflamed Harry, driving him to cross to Draco, shove him inside and slam the door behind them.  
  
"Who... who.... is there?"  
  
Again Draco was shivering and stammering in his presence, and Harry couldn't stop himself. He tried to remind himself that this was unfair, that Draco was a person, not just a whore for hire. But then he was trembling and reaching out blindly into the air to feel for him, lips parted as he panted and his eyes darted around the flat.  
  
Harry removed his tell-tale glasses and pocketed them, trying to do so as quietly as possible as he planned his attack.  
  
"I hear you breathing... you don't scare me," Draco said, his voice high and tight with fright.  
  
Oh, but Draco was trying so hard to be brave. Harry mused that Draco must not have his wand on him, because he started to back up, fingers trailing along the mirror wall for reassurance.  
  
Before he reached the end of the entryway, Harry made his move, pinning him against the edge of the wall. Draco squirmed and tried to fight, but Harry had bulked up during the war and Draco seemed to have become more fragile. His punches were ineffectual; his elbows caught against the wall, he was left with shallow hits. Harry flipped him around and Draco stared wildly at his own face in the mirror before scanning behind him for who was there, his expression wild like a trapped rabbit.  
  
Harry pulled the thin, red dressing gown from Draco's bird-like shoulders, and he leaned in to bite at the crook of his neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to make him _obey_. Then, Harry brought Draco's arms down so that the silk would drop to the floor, leaving him pale and naked, pressed against the mirror.  
  
The mirror fogged where Draco breathed against it, his eyes closed as he trembled and parted his legs. The whole flat was silent but for the harsh, rasping breaths and the jangle of Harry's belt cut by sound of his zipper. He grabbed Draco's narrow hips and yanked him back, forcing him to bend over and scrabble wildly at the mirror for purchase. He was left with his hands spread against the marred mirror, his face nearly kissing the reflection of his terrorized face.  
  
"A cleaning charm... and lubrication one," Draco whispered; his lips puffy from his work, hair tousled and sticking to it.  
  
He reached back for Harry's wand hand, and surprising himself, Harry let him take it, and listened carefully to the incantations Draco used to prepare himself. He was a little surprised that Draco wasn't opened, but he supposed that he didn't bottom all the time. He found himself relieved, if not a bit confused. He'd never once thought of Draco topping, even if he was with women which would necessitate it. But Draco fucked men, wasn't just fucked by them. As the visions started, Harry's chest squeezed tight and he had to push the thought aside as he yanked his hand from Draco's caress. He shoved his wand into his pocket and grabbed Draco's hips again to push into him.  
  
He was hot, so hot inside, hotter than anything he'd felt, and Draco's face reddened as he breathed through his teeth, concentrating on whatever it was he thought about to ease entry. Draco pushed back against him, head bowed as his body undulated, smooth muscle and bone just under that perfect, porcelain skin. Harry stroked his back, sliding his hands further up his spine and back down again as he crashed repeatedly against his arse, crushing skin, parting muscle, invading, defiling, forcing Draco to bend to his whim. For this moment, Harry owned him and not because he purchased him, not because he was here by appointment, but because he wanted him and Draco wanted... Draco didn't even know who it was.  
  
Harry grabbed Draco's silvery hair and yanked him up, wrapping an arm around his chest, forcing him up so he could see the entire length of his body. He slid a hand down his torso to wrap around Draco's hard, bobbing cock. It was strange but enthralling to feel the weight of the first cock that wasn't his own. The skin was so soft, velvety amazingly silken smooth. He squeezed and twisted it, almost so lost in it that he forgot who he was, forgot that Draco didn't know and didn't care who was fucking him.  
  
"Who... am I?" he growled into his ear.  
  
Draco's eyes opened and went wild again, his lips parted, his hands still plastered to the wall. He tried to look at him again, eyes cutting to the side.  
  
"You're... you..." he said carefully.  
  
He yanked hard on his cock, making Draco cry out; his insides squeezed around Harry, pulling at him, begging him to release.  
  
"Dirty little cunt, you don't even know who's fucking you."  
  
"I... I know... I just... shouldn't... you've been... watching me," he gasped, his hands fisting against the wall as his entire body flushed and Harry shoved harder into him in shorter strokes.  
  
"Say it, then. Say my name."  
  
He was strangling Draco's cock, and Draco had started to beat at the wall, sobbing for him to stop.  
  
"Say it."  
  
"Harry!" he cried as a long rope of come shot from him against the mirror and spat again and again till it dribbled down his fingers.  
  
Harry came a moment later after watching it, his body hitching and shuddering till he finally wound down to a stop. He crushed Draco against the mirrored wall, his hair tickling his nose and invading his mouth.  
  
Before Harry could gather his wits about him and question how Draco knew it was him, he felt his wand sliding from his back pocket and Draco said, " _Finite_."  
  
Harry slapped a hand over Draco's mouth and his sodden hand grabbed for his wand, instead getting Draco's wrist and twisting it. He ground his thumb between the bones, jangling Draco's nerves enough that he was forced to release the wand, his scream muffled into Harry's hand. Harry caught the wand from his hand and gripped it tightly.  
  
Now that Harry could see himself, blurry in the mirror, black hair matted over his now ruby, sparkling scar, he could feel nothing but shame. He pulled out of Draco and whipped him around to face him. Harry pointed the tip of his wand to the back of his neck.  
  
"No more clients. No more fucking anyone else."  
  
"I can't do that," Draco said, his neck flexing with the heaviness of his breath.  
  
"If you don't, I'll kill you."  
  
Harry couldn't look at himself now, watching Draco's face was hard enough.  
  
Draco eyes rolled back and then closed as he whimpered. A tear slid down his face before he breathed, "Then I'm dead either way."  
  
"Do you like this? These things you do?" Harry concentrated on the tear, watching it slide down Draco's perfect cheek, slowing at the sparse, golden stubble.  
  
"No." His lips formed the words slowly, like a word he'd been dying to say but never had the luxury to intone. His breath cast a dull film against the mirror, a vapor gone nearly as soon as it appeared.  
  
"Do you want me to help you?" Harry spared himself a glance. This he could recognize. This he could be. This he could live with.  
  
Draco cast a sidelong glance at Harry, his lips quivering to say no again, to tell him off, to shove him away and say goodbye, but his head rested against the mirror at a petulant angle and he asked, "Why would you want to? So that you could have me to yourself?"  
  
Caught. And Harry could no longer look at himself, and wasn't quite shameless enough to look at Draco. "You know that it would be too dangerous for you to just walk about town."  
  
"You think you could protect me all by your onesie?"  
  
"I could set you up with a Fidelius charmed flat. I can well afford it," Harry murmured, staring at Draco's cheek again, noting another tear rolling down his jaw line.  
  
"Right, so instead of several people visiting, I just sit around in a lesser flat waiting for you to get bored enough with fucking the Weaslette to pop by for a visit. No thank you."  
  
Catching Harry off-guard, Draco shoved him back and grabbed his dressing gown to pull it over his shoulders and tie around the waist.  
  
"We're divorced."  
  
Harry gained his balance against the opposing wall and grabbed his glasses from his trouser pocket.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Well, bored with whomever you're fucking."  
  
"Why not? You're doing it now, just on a grander scale."  
  
"And getting paid for it. Paid well for it. And protected."  
  
Harry folded his arms, his nostrils flaring with his agitation. "So it's all right to be used so long as you're using them back?"  
  
Draco yanked up his dressing gown to show Harry his pale forearm, marred by the Dark Mark and said in a low, irritated growl, "I don't have much choice, do I? I didn't become a whore because I had loads of choices, Potter."  
  
About to say something, Harry stopped short when a squat, fat house-elf appeared.  
  
"Yes, Master?" it asked, blinking up at Draco.  
  
Exhaling loudly through his nostrils, Draco glared at the beast. "I said Pott _er_ , not Pott _y_. Be gone!"  
  
Potty vanished before Draco's hand reached it. Harry stared into the blank space it once occupied. "Potty?"  
  
"That's its name. Potty the house-elf." Draco folded his arms, but avoided Harry's eyes.  
  
"Are you _blushing_?"  
  
Draco waved him off. "Go home, Pott-- Harry. Go home to your... girlfriend."  
  
"Don't have one. Did you name your house-elf after me?"  
  
Harry followed Draco into the posh living area, watching him as he fixed himself a brandy at the mahogany bar in the corner near the fine marble fireplace.  
  
"It's a house-elf and hardly a compliment."  
  
Draco looked over his shoulder and perked a brow as Harry took a seat. He set out a second snifter and poured a second and returned to his butter-soft leather wing backed chairs, setting Harry's glass down on the table between the chairs as he curled up, legs tucked daintily under him, on his own chair.  
  
Tracing his index finger along the rim of the glass, he finally asked, "How did you find me?"  
  
"A man gave me a card. I didn't know it would be you behind the door."  
  
Harry eyed the glass, and then Draco, both with suspicion.  
  
Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. He took up Harry's snifter and took a long, slow drink and then set it down for him again. "I figured you didn't know it was me when you fainted."  
  
"I didn't faint." Harry took the glass and swirled it, but didn't drink yet.  
  
"All right... rested your eyes unexpectedly. While standing. At the door."  
  
Draco couldn't be bothered to reassure Harry any further about the brandy and so he took a sip of his own and snuggled back against the chair, watching every movement like a wary cat.  
  
"D'you suppose it could have been random? Our skirmishes were legend to us, but outside of Hogwarts and since what's happened since, would people know of the rivalry of two schoolboys?"  
  
"I suppose it didn't exactly make it to the _Daily Prophet_ , but you were a Death Eater and I'm Harry Potter. They can't have thought it would've been good."  
  
Harry broke down and took a sip of the brandy, which was excellently smooth, with just enough sharpness to heighten the taste.  
  
"I killed a few Death Eaters in my time; do you think the hope was that I would kill you?"  
  
Draco paled and finished the glass. The crystal rattled on the table when Draco set down the glass. He folded his arms around himself, trying to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes sought something in the air.  
  
"You did just threaten me."  
  
Harry blushed and took another sip. He didn't mean to upset Draco, but it worked to his advantage if he were scared. He tried to ignore what other feelings Draco's fear tended to arouse.  
  
"I will protect you."  
  
"From whom? From you? You're the only one who's tried to-- who _has_ hurt me."  
  
Draco massaged his wrists. Even though they were no longer chafed from the cuffs, Harry remembered how pink they were, the white curls of his fragile skin poking up around where the seams had been.  
  
"Right, well, I didn't kill you." He looked down at the glass and swirled it again, as if that could distract him from what Draco was likely to say to that. "But someone probably sent me to, and might send someone else. So really, it's for your own good that you not see clients."  
  
"My own good, is it? How do you know that you weren't just sent here for a good time? One that you've certainly had-- at my expense. Twice. How convenient for you that you've decided that it's a matter of life and death that I let you violate me exclusively. I won't have it. I won't do it!" Draco announced.  
  
Harry could feel his anger building and growing as he thought of what might happen to Draco. Death or not, even the idea of someone else _touching him_ was sending Harry over the edge. He felt the vibration in the snifter before it exploded in his hand, shards embedded into his hand, and rich, red blood spilled over his palm. Draco was mouthing something as he stood up, his eyes on his empty glass, which rattled again. He'd just ducked behind his chair when it smashed.  
  
There was a loud crack and Harry, feeling slightly detached from the situation, looked in the direction of the disruption to see the large silver-framed mirror crack.  
  
"Get out!" Draco shrieked as he backed away from the mirror.  
  
"I'm bleeding," Harry responded; feeling suddenly extraordinarily tired.  
  
It had been a long time since his magic reacted spontaneously like this. It only happened in times of extreme danger or mental stress, but he didn't quite remember it leaving him this exhausted.  
  
"I don't care!" Draco shoved him back as the mirror came tumbling down from the mantle in a shower of silver and the giant crystal chandelier started to rattle. "Out! Now!"  
  
There really was a lot of glass in Draco's flat, Harry mused as he slammed into the mirror-covered wall. Catching himself with his hand drove the splinters of crystal further into his hand, and Harry yelped. Draco almost looked apologetic, but didn't stop his frantic pushing as he ushered Harry out of the door.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Draco gave him an exasperated look before he slammed the door in Harry's face. He half expected to hear a loud crash of glass and Draco screaming in pain, but the door was soundproofed, so even if it happened, he wouldn't hear it. Worried, he pounded on the door for a half an hour before one of Draco's neighbors called the authorities and Harry was forced to leave.  
  
\--  
  
Draco's day didn't start early; thank whomever you thank when you aren't thanking someone tangible. Though there was something to be said for morning wood, few people ran out to a whore to take care of it, so Draco didn't have to answer the door till around noon.  
  
He'd spent a good portion of the night searching out and fixing bits of glass that Harry's temper had shattered while trying desperately not to think about what might happen if he got back in. Bull in a china cabinet was an understatement.  
  
But the first customer of the day had arrived and Draco tried to be optimistic that perhaps the Muggle authorities, having found Harry banging on a wall to gain entrance, would have dealt with him accordingly. That hope was dashed, however, when he opened the door and, scanning the walls, saw through Harry's Disillusionment charm to find him in a crumpled mess of a heap in the corner. Fuck.  
  
Death Eater training wasn't unlike Auror training, only the punishment for failure was often death, which made it more extreme. It also meant that Draco was no slouch with seeing through things like Disillusionment charms. He looked to his first customer, Kingsley Shacklebolt, making a face that the Auror didn't seem to notice a spy-- but that was Ministry training for you.  
  
"Can you do something about that?" he asked, pointing at Harry, who was standing now, making his way to the doorway.  
  
"What?" Kingsley whirled around, staring into blank space until his eyes narrowed and finally saw Harry. "Oh. Erm..."  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be the Auror in charge of finding him?" Harry snapped, removing the charm since everyone saw him anyway and using magic in public like that was technically illegal-- at least if you were caught.  
  
"Oh, are you?" Draco smirked at Kingsley, who appeared sheepish and also looking for a way to escape. "He found me anyway. Although you could say that he's _taken me in_ several times."  
  
Draco could feel Harry's anger like the prickling shivers that people sometimes call 'someone walking over your grave.' He looked back inside of his flat, at all of the breakables. Sure, it was easy enough to repair everything, but he didn't fancy trying to survive walls of mirrors severing arteries that were precious to him. He waved his finger in front of Harry's face.  
  
"Stop that."  
  
"You know how talk like that makes me feel," Harry snapped.  
  
Kingsley was slowly backing away, headed for the lift.  
  
"Right, well, you've scared off my date, a big Auror man who wasn't trying to kill me by all but threatening to murder me yourself. Some great defender you are."  
  
Draco grabbed Harry's wrist and yanked him inside, reasoning that he might as well have him in, since he was just going to run everyone off anyway.  
  
"Potty, serve lunch."  
  
"Which way to your kitchen?" Harry looked around and seemed puzzled by Draco's command.  
  
"The _house-elf_ , Pott _er_. Look, if you're going to answer for each other all the time, it's going to become very irritating. I'd rather not have to sell the house-elf just because you can't tell the difference."  
  
Draco headed for the dining room and took a seat at the far end of the table, gesturing for Harry to take a seat on the other side, several yards away.  
  
"I'm just used to you calling me that, is all."  
  
Harry took his seat and soon there was a rather satisfying Shepherd's pie that was normally reserved for Kingsley.  
  
"So I thought about ways to get you to trust me, and I've decided that I'll let you fuck me."  
  
Draco tilted his head, his expression scrunched in an obvious, _what the fuck?_  
  
"Because sex resolves everything? No, Harry. I'm not going to fuck you."  
  
"Not even if I pay you?"  
  
"Er..."  
  
Draco faltered, and stared at the food on his fork, trying to come up with a good answer to that. He _could_ reject money, but he hadn't so far. It smacked of being unprofessional, and if it was one thing he could call himself, it was professional.  
  
"Are you sure that's what you want? Have you ever bottomed before?"  
  
"No. Is it... bad...? I mean... does it hurt?"  
  
Harry looked at him with such vulnerability that Draco almost balked. He had planned to sell it as being horridly painful, the worst experience ever, an exercise in pain. Heterosexual people often bought it. Harry's expression told him that he would buy it.  
  
"Yes. It's very painful."  
  
_If you don't relax and prepare to enjoy it._ It wasn't painful, although it had hurt at times-- only when he wasn't mentally prepared.  
  
Harry's eyes lowered to his pie and he stirred it around, appearing to consider. Pressing his lips together, he nodded to himself and finally raised his gaze to Draco and shook back his shaggy hair.  
  
"I don't care. I still want you to do it."  
  
The blood had drained from Harry's face, and while Draco found it somewhat amusing that the savior of the Wizarding world could look so frightened by a bit of arsesex, he was surprisingly disarmed by his fear and willingness to try and make things right between them. Harry's eyes were hard to see behind the reflection of his glasses, but Draco knew they would be sincere. Besides, he could then claim to have buggered the Boy Who Lived. Finishing his soup, Draco relented.  
  
"Fine, then."  
  
\--  
  
Draco's room was a measure in silks and brocades, heady with smoke and incense and floating candles that brightened the room and deepened the dark corners. Harry lay flat on his belly over the off-white sateen sheets, the covers rolled back so that he could lie unperturbed as Draco sat on his thighs, rubbing oils scented with lavender over his back and down his smooth, golden skin to the plump curve of his arse.  
  
The feel of Draco's soft fingers kneading his cheeks was intensely erotic, even if he was filled with the fear and dread of the possibility of pain. He'd watched as Draco laid out three plugs of graduating sizes, smooth and black, as sensual as they were frightening. It seemed so dirty and so wrong to allow Draco to do this, but each time he thought of how dirty it was, his stomach lightened, and he felt a twinge of lust. Even if it weren't to try and even things, Harry was curious.  
  
As Draco settled behind him, between his legs, presumably preparing some implement to slide into him, Harry had his first moment of doubt. If anal sex was so painful, then why would so many people do it? Even though Draco appeared afraid, he seemed to enjoy the act and he had to admit to himself that Draco might have lied. He took great comfort in that, clinging to the possibility of that belief as he felt Draco parting him.  
  
At first, he wasn't sure what he thought of the sensation, other than it felt incredibly warm and soft and not at all what he had ever associated with that part of his body. Warm-soft and then gone. Then it was there again, swirling and teasing. Harry chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Draco's head lowered over him, a black rod a finger's width in thickness held against Harry's thigh. It took a moment for it to register that the warm feeling was Draco's tongue, teasing over his hole, the dirtiest part of him-- or normally would have been before all of the cleaning charms Draco had performed on him, each of which had been strange, but not unpleasant. If he were to be completely honest, it felt good.  
  
"That feels..."  
  
Good was such an understatement and amazing sounded like he was curing cancer. Although that brilliant feeling of Draco's tongue over such a sensitive spot would qualify as that, at least in the moment. Harry dropped his head back onto his arms and he stared down at the pillow. Draco's balmy breath lingered over his open cheeks as he felt Draco back up, then the hard wedge of the rod, or plug, poking gently at his opening.  
  
The clinical press of the plastic cylinder inside of him felt more like Petunia taking his temperature than it did anything sensual. However, the way Draco started moving it inside of him was thankfully nothing like having his temperature taken. He felt his cheeks warm and he was about to say something, just to break the silence, when it slipped out of him.  
  
Draco reached for the second toy and Harry watched him slicking the lubricant over it, his eyes half-lidded until they met.  
  
"You seemed to take that well," Draco purred. He leered at Harry and added, "I might have doubts about your virginity."  
  
Harry tensed and kept staring at Draco, wondering if he was just having a bit of fun with him or if he were serious.  
  
"I really never have."  
  
Smirking, Draco set the larger plug at his opening and slowly started to push it in. This time, Harry started to feel stretched. It didn't hurt any more than going to the bathroom did, but it was in decidedly the wrong direction. His skin prickled with sweat, his nerves edgy about the invasion. But when he looked at Draco, and the heady way he was gazing between his legs, Harry relaxed, feeling proud of himself for taking it so well and adjusting to the new sensation. Draco pulled it out partway and then twisted it back into him and this time Harry felt a strange growing sensation of pleasure.  
  
Maybe it was the way Draco was twisting the object in him, or maybe there was just that spot that felt irresistibly good, or maybe he was just getting off on how dirty this was or the lusty look in Draco's eyes, but Harry started to push his hips forward on the bed, frotting against the soft sheets. He groaned as Draco pulled it all the way out and then slid it in again. He could feel the skin stretching around the black plug, and loved the way it forced him open. He lost all sense of shame, all sense of self, as Draco kept fucking him with the plug.  
  
Then it stopped. Harry whined, grinding his knees to the mattress to hold his opened arse up insistently to Draco. He imagined it was open still, trying slowly to close except for Harry's need to be filled again. Hearing the squeeze of the bottle, Harry prepared for another cold intrusion. There was another plug waiting for him yet, so he was a bit surprised to feel something warm and organic pressed against him. He clenched the pillow under his head and squeezed his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip as Draco moved into him in a long, careful thrust.  
  
Draco lay atop him a moment as Harry adjusted to it, but more than the physical adjustment was his mental one. Objects inside of him were dirty, sort of wrong, but not nearly so intimate. They'd felt good... incredible even, but this... pressed under the weight of Draco, feeling his warmth against him and knowing that he was filled with him was intense.  
  
"All right, Harry?"  
  
All right? That was an understatement. He was beyond aroused and his cock started to throb under him, begging for attention.  
  
Turning his head, Harry looked at Draco's red face; his lips parted in arousal and need for air.  
  
"Don't stop."  
  
Draco took hold of the bed on either side of Harry's pillow to ground himself and started a rhythm, sliding easily in and out of Harry, and it felt amazing. He figured he'd end up feeling it later, but for now, that spot inside of him begged for more attention and he continued to push his cock into the sheets, hiding his face against the pillow as they moved faster. He wanted to speak, to tell Draco how good this felt, and ask him not to stop, but he didn't want to make an arse of himself, so he kept quiet, just shifting against him until Draco moved them onto their sides, spooning behind him to keep fucking him. In this position, Draco could slide a lubed hand around Harry's cock and it didn't take long before Harry gasped for air, his insides clenching as his body expelled onto the sheets and into Draco's hand.  
  
Harry watched the slick head of his cock sliding in and out of Draco's fist as it sputtered out the last of his come.  
  
Draco slowed down, but Harry whispered, "No, I want you to come."  
  
After a pause where Draco's body had stilled, he said, "It might take a while."  
  
"Don't you normally come?"  
  
Harry took Draco's hand from his cock, and curious, he flicked the tip of his tongue over one of Draco's fingers to taste himself. It wasn't great, wasn't bad.  
  
"No." Slowly, Draco started to work into him again, as if Harry might change his mind. "Sometimes."  
  
"You came for me."  
  
Harry was pleased, feeling some of the guilt for how he'd treated him melting away. Maybe it was optimistic to think that Draco coming meant that he'd enjoyed it, but he preferred to think of it that way.  
  
Draco pushed into him harder, grabbing Harry's waist to use him, to take him hard, pressing his forehead against the back of Harry's neck.  
  
"I... did...."  
  
He moved faster and faster, grunting louder. It was starting to become painful, but the noises Draco made and how urgently he clawed at his hips aroused Harry, and he pushed back, whimpering words of encouragement until Draco was moving impossibly fast and then grounded in a longer, louder groan. He paused and then thrust into him a few more times before the tension eased and Draco was left holding Harry around the waist, twitching in aftershocks.  
  
If this was bottoming, Harry liked it.  
  
\--  
  
It was a dark, enclosed space. Or maybe it was a huge room lit only by suspicious sources to reveal only the face of Severus Snape before him. He was held by the arms, Dolohov on one side and someone else, someone in the dark, on the other. Snape's face was still and intense, like a Muggle portrait. His wand was up, pointed at Harry's forehead, but he was waiting, waiting for something.  
  
Waiting for Voldemort to arrive to strike the killing blow.  
  
Harry was too frightened to put up any defenses. He watched Snape's face, starting to panic in the silent stillness, wondering where the light was emanating from, wondering when he would finally be slaughtered, wondering what Snape was seeing inside of his mind aside from sheer panic.  
  
Was this happening?  
  
Was it a dream?  
  
Was it memory?  
  
Harry closed his eyes, throwing himself into the myriad sparkling colors that all blended into blankness behind his eyes. Something erupted in him. Voldemort's voice. Snape shouting. Arms free. Release.  
  
Escape.  
  
Running.  
  
A door chime.  
  
Opening his eyes, he saw Draco's visage, a blurry watercolor-- tilted, curious, inspecting him, soft fingers brushing over his scar and the fading memory of being sung to.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"You fell asleep. Some dream you must have been having."  
  
Draco was warm atop Harry, sliding his fingers through his hair. The door chimed again.  
  
"Are you going to get that?"  
  
"It's a client." Draco smirked at Harry's expression. "Potty's telling them that I'm otherwise occupied."  
  
Harry exhaled and wrapped his sleepy arms around Draco.  
  
"Are you quitting? Will you let me take care of you?"  
  
"I'll give it a try. I'm... not sure who to tell about it, though."  
  
Draco's face came into better focus as he rested his head on his folded hands on Harry's chest.  
  
"You don't know who you work for?"  
  
Harry furrowed his brows, trying to remember the man who had given him the card. The harder he thought about it, the less concrete the image of the man became. Suddenly Harry found himself doubting that it was even a man. Had it been a woman?  
  
Draco shook his head. "I never... remember... I know I've talked to him... or her. I just... don't remember who it is. But I have the feeling that it'll be all right. Maybe he's watching now."  
  
Instinctively, Harry looked around the room as if there would be a camera or something obvious sitting out. But of course not. Whomever was doing this was obviously a powerful witch or wizard. It was then that things started to fall into place. His being brought here wasn't about killing Draco, it was about rescuing Draco.  
  
\--  
  
"And who better to protect and care for my darling boy than Potter? He has connections within the Ministry, money to his name and he would fight to the death for what he loves, particularly when he feels he must play the hero. It's perfect. I'd thought Shacklebolt would step up, but alas."  
  
Narcissa waved her wand at the projection stone, wiping away the tableau of Harry and Draco cuddled together on the huge four-poster bed.  
  
"Some might say you're a monster, you know. Allowing him to believe you're dead, selling him over and over again in order to save money for your final grand escape."  
  
Snape rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently as he tried to erase the memory of the Potter brat looking _happy_.  
  
" _Our_ grand escape. Besides, I'm leaving him in good hands. I don't recall you objecting when you saw the Gringotts statement. I believe we have Tahitian pool boys waiting for us. Shall we?"  
  
Narcissa stood, taking Snape's hand as they headed hand-in-hand to the beach.


End file.
